


I Will Try To Fix You

by ahopper84, themayqueen



Series: Darling Series [2]
Category: Hanson (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Anger, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blow Jobs, Brotherhood, Brothers, Estrangement, Gay Sex, Incest, M/M, Marijuana, Painting, Panic Attacks, Reconciliation, Reconciliation Sex, Reunions, Rimming, Running Away, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-10
Updated: 2016-06-16
Packaged: 2018-06-07 11:03:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 20,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6801097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ahopper84/pseuds/ahopper84, https://archiveofourown.org/users/themayqueen/pseuds/themayqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Over three years have passed since Zac finally unleashed his true feelings upon Taylor, and it’s been that long since they’ve seen each other. Zac wants to leave the past behind him, but Taylor can’t let it go. When well-meaning Isaac puts them in each others’ paths, no one is prepared for the consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. No More Words

_Zac_

After I let the door close behind me, I felt freer than I'd ever felt before, like a huge weight was lifted from my chest. I didn't experience any of the emptiness I'd expected, despite walking out on my brother. I didn't know what I was going to do next, but that was okay. My head was perfectly clear as I made my way down the hall to my own room, leisurely getting ready for bed. And for the first time in longer than I could remember, I slept in peace.

The next morning, I woke up knowing exactly what I wanted to do. I took my time getting dressed and packed, then headed downstairs where I knew my oldest brother would be sitting, nursing a cup of coffee. He took the news that I was leaving about as well as I'd expected; quietly seething and demanding an explanation. I refused to give one, keeping things vague and focused on myself and my needs. I apologized profusely, and explained that I would explain to the fans via the website, but I didn't leave Ike any room to protest. When he insisted on bringing Taylor into the decision, I managed to dodge by explaining I had to leave immediately if I wanted to catch my flight home. 

Isaac didn't understand, but knowing how stubborn I could be, he had no choice but to let me go. I hugged him tightly, my eyes just barely misting as I left the hotel and caught a cab to the airport. As the plane lifted off on its way to Tulsa, I rested my eyes, going over the plan in my head. I had a lot of work ahead of me; selling the house, looking for a new place, looking for work. I thought about looking into art school; I knew I wanted to stay as far away from music as possible. I was starting a whole new life; a life free of Taylor and his manipulation, but also a fresh start. Music was all I'd ever known, all I'd ever been able to know. I'd always had an interest in art, but who knew what other talents and interests lay waiting to be discovered? This was a chance to really learn who I was; not Zac Hanson, the drummer of Hanson, but Zac Hanson, the man.

****

Time marches on, to the tune of three and a half years; the world still turns, the sun rises and sets over the Boston skyline, and I'm alive. I keep myself pretty busy; I've already worked my way through almost half of the Art Institute of Boston's entire catalog, and in the evenings I wash dishes at a small restaurant. It's not glamorous, but I enjoy the hard work. In my spare time, I've been focusing on my painting; there's a gallery not far from my humble flat that displays my pieces. I'd sold quite a few, and even though I hardly need the money, it feels amazing to be making a name for myself outside of music. Zac Hanson, the artist, is living a pretty good life.

I'm not hiding from my old life, though; I keep in contact with the family, calling Mom and Ike a few times a year. I've never tried to contact Taylor, though, and to his credit, he's returned the favor. Ike mentions him now and then; apparently he's been having a hard time moving on. Well, that's his problem, not mine. Ike's doing just fine, though; he's finding his place behind the curtains, so to speak. He'd always been a great moderator, with an almost unreal work ethic and plenty of ideas to bring to the table, so it makes perfect sense for him to help others bring their visions to life. 

I'm not a total recluse, either; I do go out on occasion, maybe once or twice a month. I've even gone out on a few dates, although never with the same person twice. It's not that I want to be alone; I just think I still need to find out who I am, before I can even consider sharing myself with anyone else. I'm getting there, though, slowly but surely. I'd like to think that maybe I'll find someone I can get to know, maybe even settle down with. But I still have my demons, my shadows that still need to be swept away. It's getting better every day, but I still have a long way to go. But on the bright side, I have all the time in the world.

****

_Isaac_

I've never claimed to understand why Zac left that day. I wasn't completely oblivious; I knew there was tension between him and Taylor, tension that at times seemed to bubble up for reasons I couldn't see. It hadn't seemed worse than usual the day before Zac's announcement, but something must have set him off.

A big part of me wanted to hate him for leaving us. Without giving anyone else a choice, the band was just... over. We couldn't go on without him, without one third of the formula that made our music work. He was so resolute, though. I didn't see it through my anger at the time, but as time passed and I was able to look back on it, I could see things more clearly. Zac was calm in a way that was almost scary. His mind was made up, and he believed what he was doing was right. I didn't have to understand it or accept it; it simply was what it was.

Taylor was less understanding.

No, that's not entirely true. He _did_ seem to accept Zac's decision, without even a hint of surprise or anger. I wanted him to show some kind of strong emotions, no matter what they were, but he didn't. And he never did again.

Where Zac seemed calm and collected, Taylor seemed full of emotions that he had buried so deep down inside that he could barely even feel them or anything else. Zac and I found ways to move on, but Taylor was frozen. He locked himself away, mentally, emotionally and sometimes physically, and refused to let anyone in. His life crumbled around him; with his career and brother gone, he didn't seem to care. None of us could reach him. Natalie hung on for almost a year, but finally she gave up. Taylor had already given up hope, it seemed, so there was nothing left there for her to cling to. When she left, I thought surely Taylor would snap out of this strange funk, but he didn't. He didn't even seem to notice that someone else was gone.

It's strange, but the anger I felt for Zac faded over time. I know, from the rare occasions when he calls to check in, that he's forging a new life for himself, a life that he seems to really enjoy. He's doing good. I want to be bitter and hate him for leaving us, but I can read between the lines of what he says. This is what he needed, and in spite of that bitterness, I'm glad he has found what he wanted and needed.

Taylor and I both had opportunities to do the same, but I seem to be the only one of us who cares about the whole career thing anymore. I tried everything, from co-writing to guest appearances, and eventually found that I enjoy being behind the mixing board, helping other people turn their ideas and emotions into finished songs. It feels good to help others in some way, even if I can't help my own brothers.

Taylor is impenetrable, though. No matter what I do, I can't seem to break through his shell. He's locked himself up so tightly in his own depression that absolutely no one and nothing can get in. Music doesn't even seem to interest him anymore. For almost three years, he hasn't written a single song, at least none that he has shared with me. I can't even remember the last time I noticed him _listening_ to music. His life is just empty, devoid of everything he loved before, but it seems that he wants it that way.

I'm not content just to watch him waste the rest of his life, though. It seems obvious to me that his depression is directly linked to Zac leaving. He never even says Zac's name anymore, never shows any signs of wanting to talk to or about him, but I don't see how else Taylor can ever be whole again. To me, it's obvious that even if Zac doesn't need us in his new life, Taylor isn't going to have _any_ life without Zac. I have to find some way to bring the two of them together if there is any hope of fixing Taylor.

****

_Taylor_

My life ended when Zac walked out the door that night. It sounds over-dramatic, but it's the truth.

It didn't surprise me when Isaac burst into the room in the morning and told me Zac had quit the band. I'd had the entire night to come to terms with the clear fact that I would never see Zac again. At some point, I ran out of tears and fell asleep, but it wasn't restful. It was just the sort of sleep that happens when your body is too exhausted, mentally and physically, to be a part of the waking world any longer.

That was the last time I cried, over him or anything else.

Without Zac in my life, nothing else seems to matter. My career, my kids, Natalie... somewhere, in the back of my mind, I can remember what it felt like to care about those things. I just can't actually do it anymore. Those feelings have been muffled, drowned out, replaced by something much stronger. But as soon as that feeling, my love for Zac, was brought to the surface, it was ripped away from me.

Now that it's gone, now that _he's_ gone, I'm left with nothing.

Whatever life I had left without him and my music is soon gone, too. I couldn't even manage to dredge up any regret when Natalie told me she was leaving. With her gone, that's just one less person for me to constantly disappoint. I think everyone expected me to magically "get better" when she left, but no one really understands. Isaac has a tiny glimmer of an idea what my problem is, I think, but even he eventually learned to stop mentioning Zac around me.

Zac... I try not to think about him, but sometimes I can't help it. Every time he does come to mind, I feel guilty, as though he can read my thoughts and he knows that I'm still clinging to my feelings for him. If he can let me go, why can't I just let him go, too? But I can't. What can I do, though, is avoid any discussion of him. I don't even know where he lives or what he's doing, aside from, I think, working on his art. That is as close to him as I'm allowing myself to get, but it's for his benefit, not mine, that I'm keeping this distance.

I can't even fathom what would happen if I saw him again. He made it clear that his feelings for me were purged from him that night. He's free to move on. I'm not sure I ever will be.


	2. The Board Is Set

_Isaac_

Sometimes, having the best intentions gets me absolutely nowhere. Knowing that I needed to find a way to get Zac and Taylor to speak to each other didn't make it any easier to actually come up with a plan to accomplish that. Over the past three years, I've considered absolutely everything short of just kidnapping them both and throwing them in the back of a van together. And in my more desperate moments, I considered that, too.

The problem, as I see it, is that neither of them can be persuaded. Zac has his own life and has made it obvious that he is never coming home. And Taylor... he's just a mess. He's just drifting along, with absolutely _no_ life in him at all.

I've got my own life, too, though. It keeps me busy, traveling around to record with people and keeping long hours in the studio here with the artists who are willing to travel to me. I'm not a big name in the business by any means, but I can mostly make my own rules and do what I want. It feels better than I would have imagined, having to truly answer to no one but myself. It's given me a sort of passion and drive that rivals anything I've ever felt before. More than anything else, I want Taylor to find something like that.

I just don't know how to help him.

The answer comes to me one day while I'm sitting in the studio, listening to the rough cuts of a few songs that a band from Boston sent me. There's something in the piano playing and the phrasing of the lyrics that reminds me of Taylor. The songs are every bit as dark as he seems to be inside; sometimes I catch little glimpses of him and there's just this _blackness_ in his eyes. This emptiness. I don't know the cause of it, but it's reflected back to me in these songs and I just know Taylor needs to hear them.

It doesn't hurt, of course, that the band hails from Boston and have hinted that they want me to come out there for a few weeks to work with them in person. If I can kill two birds with one stone, I absolutely will.

Calling Taylor and asking him to come to the studio is a big gamble, I know. But it's one I have to take. The phone rings for ages before he finally answers, just when I was about to give up hope and leave him a vague voicemail.

"Hello?"

"Hey," I say. "I know this is kind of weird, but do you think you could come down to the studio? I've just got this demo I want you to hear... I really think you might like it."

For a moment, I don't think Taylor is going to reply at all, but finally he answers.

"Yeah. Alright, I guess."

That was easy... almost too easy. As I wait for him to come to the studio, that's all I can think. Maybe he's finally starting to get uncomfortable in the personal hell he's locked himself in; maybe he really does want out. I know just coming to the studio isn't a big deal, but for Taylor it is, and it'll be an even bigger deal if I can get him to agree to my plan.

He takes his time getting to the studio, once again making me doubt that he's even going to show up. Once he arrives, it's a struggle to get him to sit down and pay attention to the music. There really is just no life left in him. This isn't Taylor at all; this is just some empty ragdoll wearing Taylor's face, some lifeless mannequin that can be tossed around however I like, but shows absolutely no emotion about anything.

If I could just convince him, make him hear what I hear in these songs, maybe we could find his passion again.

By the end of the first song, a plaintive ballad, I can almost see the light in his eyes again. It's just a tiny flicker, and it seems to pass as soon as he realizes I'm watching him. But now I know for sure that there is someone still alive inside Taylor. I just have to drag him out, kicking and screaming if need be.

And taking him to Boston might just be the way to do it.

****

_Taylor_

I really don't know how I ended up here. I think that all the time, but rarely is it true. The series of events that led me to this point is very clear, and it's all my fault. This exact moment moment, though, is a little more difficult to understand. I'm in Boston, with Isaac, because somehow I let him convince me that we should produce an album together.

I've told myself so many times that I want nothing to do with music anymore. It holds no answers for me now. The pain I've written about doesn't hold a candle to the pain I really feel, and I have no words at all to describe that. There's just no point; music and I are done.

Yet, here I am. Maybe it was Isaac's enthusiasm. I'm jealous of him in a way. While the band's breakup affected him, of course, he could never be touched the way that I was. He can still find joy in music... hell, in anything. He can still feel happiness.

I have to admit, the longer we're here, the better I start to feel. It's not like I could sink much lower than rock bottom, though. I have precious little to contribute in the studio, so Ike is more than willing to let me go out on my own and just wander the city. He seems to encourage it, in fact. I don't even remember the last time I was out of Tulsa, so walking aimlessly and anonymously around a city I don't know very well gives me a chance to breathe a little. It's a sort of freedom that feels a little wrong, a little like I don't deserve it, but a little right, too.

After almost a week here, I find a new neighborhood that looks like it might be fun to explore. Ike's spending the evening with some executive types, and that's a part of the music business that I really don't think I can drag myself back into, so I take the evening off to explore. It's a hipster sort of area that I've found myself in, and before too long, I'm wandering into an art gallery. Art was always Zac's thing, although I dabbled with it too.

I hate how so many things remind me of him. That seems to be something I will just never be free of, no matter how much time passes. How could I be free of reminders of the brother I spent twenty-six years getting to know? Even if there were huge parts of him that I didn't know or understand, there are still so many tiny pieces of him woven into the very fabric of who I am that I know thoughts of him will always creep into my mind at random moments. It's something that even three years apart hasn't taught me how to stop.

The gallery isn't all that large, so I take my time wandering around, soaking in each and every piece of art around me. It's all modern, the sort of art that you really have to dig into and think about to see all the symbolism. I'll admit that many of the paintings and strange sculptures go right over my head, their meaning completely lost on me.

There's one painting, though, that catches my eye.

It's familiar, in a way, like I've seen this painting somewhere before, although I'm sure I haven't. There's something almost childlike in the strokes, and that's definitely familiar. They might look almost haphazard, but I have no doubt each one was placed on the canvas with deliberation. All I can discern of the signature is a Z, and that's all I need to prove what I already suspected.

This is Zac's art.

The colors are dark, shades of red, purple and black blending together to remind me of nothing so much as the angry bruises Zac left on my body that night. There's torment and anguish on the canvas, but it's not Zac's. It's mine, reflected back at me.

"It's a bold statement, isn't it?" Someone asks, and I turn to see a thin man with dark glasses standing next to me. I wonder how long he's been there and how long I've been staring at this painting. "It's from a really talented local artist. I think he's going places."

I nod mindlessly as the man I can only assume is the gallery owner continues his spiel about this new local artist. Local? I vaguely recall that Zac _did_ move to Boston, and somewhere in the back of my mind, I wonder if Ike planned this. That's not important right now, though. When the man finally pauses for a breath, I jump in. "Is this painting for sale?"

"Oh, I'm afraid we've already sold this one," he replies.

My heart drops. That painting is _mine_. It's me, ripped open and bared on the canvas, and the thought of anyone else owning it makes me sick. I suppose there's nothing I can do, though. It's certainly not as if I can find Zac and ask him to duplicate it for me.

"However," the man says, drawing the word out, "I believe he's sending over a new painting in just a few days. I couldn't say what it will look like, but I can certainly put it on hold for you."

"Yes. Please do," I reply, my voice sounding very urgent.

The man gives me a quizzical look, not fully understanding why it's so important to me that I own a piece of art by some artist I've only just become aware of. At least, that's how it must seem to him, but it couldn't be farther from the truth. This painting is my last possible connection to Zac. Even if he's closer to me than he's been in years, that's only physical. I don't harbor any illusions that his art can bridge the huge divide between us. If anything can, though, it's a chance I'm finally willing to take.

And if it doesn't work, at least I'll have one of his paintings to cling to. Paint on a canvas can't possibly replace my brother, but it's a hell of a lot better than nothing.

****

_Zac_

I wake in a cold sweat, gasping for air and gripping the sheets with white-knuckled fists. It takes me a minute to realize where I am, alone in my apartment in Boston. I run a shaking hand through my hair and swing my legs over the side of the bed, glancing at the clock. It’s almost eleven in the morning; I was supposed to deliver my new painting to the gallery by noon. Groaning, I drag myself into the bathroom for a quick shower, suppressing the memory of the nightmare. 

It was all too common; I was back in the hotel with Taylor on that fateful night. Things started off as they had, but instead of walking out, I turned on my brother. I kept screaming at him, unloading every ounce of pain and anger. It always escalated, turning violent, ending up with my hands wrapped around his perfect neck. 

Internally, I always begged myself to stop before things went too far, but I never could. The last sound I heard was always his voice, choking out one last apology. I could still hear it echoing in my ears whenever I jolted awake, and for a long time after.

I’ve learned to shove it down though, and put on a brave face. Life moves on, and so have I. Sure, I have nightmares; and maybe the ‘raw emotion’ my paintings convey make some people uncomfortable. I’m happy, for the first time in a long time. I’ve built a nice little life for myself here, and I’ll be damned if I let whatever demons my past has left me with ruin it. If I ignore them hard enough, it’s almost like they aren’t there at all.

Not too much later I head into the gallery, painting under my arm. It’s a relatively large one, a good foot and a half wide and twice as tall. It’s abstract, like all my works; shades of blue and gold fade in and out of the frame, weaving in and out of each other. It reminds me too much of Taylor, and I can’t wait to be rid of it. Unlike others inspired by my brother, this one feels less angry and more… reminiscent. It leaves me with a longing feeling that haunts me; I don’t like looking at it, and hope it sells quickly.

My wish is granted when Mr. Fenley, the gallery manager, informs me it’s already been requested. He tells me a gentleman came in wanting to buy my last piece, and when told it was already spoken for, insisted on claiming the next one sight unseen. I know I’ve developed a bit of a following; maybe this particular patron would pay more for some custom work. I ask Mr. Fenley to get in touch with him and try to set up a meeting. He calls him right away, and I listen intently to the half of the conversation I can hear. 

“Hello, this is Mr. Fenley with Polychromatic Studios. Yes, it’s just been delivered. Mr. Hanson was wondering if you might want to meet up to contract him for a custom piece? Yes… yes, of course. One second, I’ll ask him.” Mr. Fenley holds the phone to his shoulder and turns to me, lowering his voice.

“He wants to know if you’d like to meet for lunch tomorrow.”

“Yeah, that sounds good. Tell him to meet me at the Andala Cafe on Franklin,” I tell the manager. It’s a nice place, a combination coffee shop hookah bar; their menu is good, and it’s quiet enough to talk business. I listen to him relay the details, agreeing on a one o’clock meeting time as well as hand-delivery of the work I’m currently holding. I thank him and head back home; I’m not thrilled about being stuck with the painting for another day, but at least it’s already sold. 

I wonder what this guy is like, and what it is about my paintings he enjoys so much. As I go about the rest of my day, I keep thinking about it. Mr. Fenley described him as a ‘young gentleman,’ and part of me can’t help wondering what he looks like. I haven’t dated another guy since… well, I’ve never actually _dated_ a guy, to be honest. But it’s not like I’ve never thought about it. After Taylor, I had a hard time figuring out if I was actually gay or bi or whatever, or if Taylor’s actions had just messed me up; in the end I decided it didn’t matter, since relationships were the furthest thing from my mind. Sure, I went on a few dates, but usually just because this girl or that kept asking.

If I’m totally honest with myself, I’m probably bi; there are just as many guys I find attractive as girls. And as a relatively normal man, of course I get turned on from time to time, and have to… take care of myself. But I try not to think about anything when I do, because no matter how they start, my thoughts inevitably always turn to blond hair, blue eyes and porcelain skin. The terrifying thought is that the line between my fantasies and nightmares is nearly impossible to discern.


	3. Fissures and Faults

_Zac_

It’s the next day, and I’m sitting at a booth in the back of the cafe, sipping on a cup of tea and waiting for my patron. I realize I never got his name from Fenley; I guess it doesn’t matter, since I’ll learn it soon enough anyway. I look up at the clock; it’s only twelve thirty. I consider ordering a hookah, after the business meeting; maybe I’ll offer to share, if he seems interested. It’s a pleasure I don’t partake of all that often; I prefer to smoke my herbs in private, and usually from a pipe.

Every time I hear the bell above the door jingle, I turn around to see who it is. I watch every guy that comes in, but they all head to the bar or to another table without looking around. Minutes pass; one o’clock comes and goes, and I start to think I’ve been stiffed. I grumble to myself, mad about losing the sale and being stuck carrying around my painting all day. I must not have heard the door, because the next thing I know I’m being tapped on the shoulder. When I turn around, all the blood drains from my face in an instant.

“Taylor?”

“Hey Zac.”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

I look around, hoping against hope that someone else, anyone else will come in and tell me they’re there for my painting. But I know, somehow I just know that it’s Taylor. Questions start flooding my brain. Did he know it was mine? Of course he knew, it’s not like I use a fake name. How long has he known I’m here? Has he been stalking me? How many paintings has he bought? Am I really successful, or has he just been playing me again? Why is he showing up now? 

I take a deep breath, quelling the threatening panic. I don’t know how he found me, but I’m guessing our older brother had something to do with it; while I never specifically told him not to disclose my new address, I thought I’d pretty damn clearly implied it, but apparently not. I remind myself that I’ve survived, hell I’ve _thrived_ on my own, and I’ll be damned if I let him take that away from me. I look at Taylor again, and make a decision. I’m not looking at my brother; I’m looking at a potential buyer, nothing more. I put on my best professional smile and nod towards the painting.

“So I guess you’re here for this? Just so you know, you’re paying full price. Two-fifty, cash or check only. No returns. And no autographs.”

****

_Taylor_

I should have known that seeing Zac again wouldn’t magically fix anything. Somewhere inside, I did know that. But I’m a fool. Everyone knows that. I didn’t think that everything would be fine between us, but I didn’t think he would be so… unfeeling.

I know he could be so much worse, though. Even though there’s a sarcastic edge to his words, there’s no discernable malice. His smile is fake, but I can’t tell if anything else about this empty, emotionless version of my brother is.

Unsure what to say in the face of his sarcasm, I decide to just sit down and start scanning the menu. There’s no reason not to be casual, especially since Zac is being so casual that anyone who glances at our table wouldn’t even know we had met before this moment. I can feel his eyes on me but I keep mine trained on the menu. Without letting them flicker upward at all, I ask, “So, what’s good here?”

Zac’s smile disappears; he stares at me for a moment, shakes his head, and looks at his own menu, quietly sighing and muttering something under his breath.

Choosing to ignore the fact that he hasn’t answered my question, I continue, “I’m thinking Turkish coffee, but I’m just not sure what I should have with it…”

“Have whatever you want,” Zac replies, his voice still so calm, like I’m no one at all to him.

“Maybe the lentil soup,” I say. “What do you think I would like here?”

“Are you _really_ doing this?” Zac asks without looking up.

I lower the menu and look up at him. “Am I really doing what? Trying to have a civil conversation with you? I guess.”

His head snaps up and he glares at me. “Acting like this is completely normal. Like it’s okay for you to just waltz back into my life as if nothing happened.” His eyes burn, his nostrils flare; but then he seems to reign himself in, closing his eyes and sitting back. He’s trying to keep calm, but I can see his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides.

“I just… I mean…” I stutter out, then pause to take a breath and regain my composure. “So what if I wanted to see you? Is that so wrong?”

“What’s _wrong_ is tricking me into this. You knew I’d never agree to meeting up, so you did whatever it took. Same old Taylor; nothing else matters as long as you get your way, right?” he asked with a mocking chuckle.

I shrug. “Well, it got you here, didn’t it? Isn’t that the important part?”

He balls his hand up into a fist and slams it onto the table; not hard enough to attract attention, but enough to show that he’s serious. “Yeah, it’s important; it’s important because it shows that you still don’t care about anyone but yourself. You know I didn’t want anything to do with you ever again, but here you are. Hell, you don’t just not care; you’re a god damned sadist.”

“Sadist?” I repeat, shaking my head in disbelief. Maybe at one time I was, but not now. If anything, I’m the exact opposite of that now.

“Yes, a sadist. That’s what they call someone who gets off on _torturing_ people. You know, the way you _tortured_ me? Since I was a fucking teenager?”

Something in the way he practically growls the words triggers something in me… something like a memory. My eyes are trained on his fist, knuckles white and trembling. Then I realize that I’m trembling, too. I know I should say something, but I’m frozen. I can’t look up at him. Whatever expression is on his face, I don’t want to see it. I can’t see it. Not with his words--one of them in particular--echoing in my mind.

“You really haven’t changed, have you? Is this your new way of getting your kicks? Becoming a fucking stalker? I thought moving halfway across the country, I’d finally get away from you, but I guess I underestimated how sick you really are. How long have you been following me? Am I gonna have to move again, to change jobs? To change my _name_? What do I have to do to get rid of you?”

Get rid of _me_? He’s the one who left. I’m the one who has been stuck, unable to move past the moment when he walked out of that room. The last few years, I’ve relived that moment over and over again, felt those emotions over and over again, but not like I am right now. With all of Zac’s anger pouring down on me now, it’s like I never left that hotel room at all.

I feel like I’m trapped in my own body. I can feel myself trembling harder as I struggle to speak, but still no words will come out. Zac’s lips are still moving, but I can’t hear a thing. My mind is screaming at me, feeling as though it might shatter my skull like glass. For a moment I wonder if I’m the only one who can hear it, but it’s more of a feeling than a sound. It’s pure terror, I realize. Once that dawns on me, I recognize the cause--it’s sitting right across from me.

I can’t breathe.


	4. Drowning In You

_Zac_

Once I start going off on Taylor, it’s nearly impossible to stop. It’s like the hotel room all over again, except this time I’ve had three years to truly articulate my feelings. Sure, I tried not to dwell on it, but that doesn’t mean I succeeded. With distance comes clarity, and the more clear Taylor’s actions became, the deeper my resentment grew.

“You really don’t have any idea what you did to me, do you? You think it was just about the sex? You made me…” I look around briefly, then realize no one probably recognizes us anyway. And even if they do, I’m too pissed off to care.

“You made me fall in love with you,” I say, swallowing back the bile. “Do you have the slightest idea how sick that is? I almost went to a therapist, but I was too disgusted to even think about it, let alone tell anyone else. You can’t just use people like that and not expect them to feel something. We can’t all be hollow like you.”

“Am I even the only one you’ve done this to? I mean, it’s hard to top seducing your fucking _younger brother_ , but surely someone like you would get bored with just one target, right? So how many other lives have you ruined? How many hearts have you twisted? Do you even know? Do you even _care_? Of course you don’t! You’re Taylor fucking Hanson, sex god of all time. Why should little things like _other peoples feelings_ matter to you?”

It takes me a moment to realize Taylor isn’t even listening; I’m about to add that to the list of insults I’m slinging, since it wouldn’t be the first time he’s just spaced out while someone was trying to talk to him. He used to do it to interviewers all the time, leaving Ike and me to pick up the slack. But when I take a closer look, I notice the way he’s shaking, the way his eyes are wide but unfocused. I’ve seen that look before, but not in a long time. Crap.

“Tay,” I say, trying to snap him out of it. “Taylor,” I try again when he doesn’t respond. I sigh heavily; this is perfect, exactly how I wanted today to go. First my brother shows up out of the blue, uninvited, unannounced and sure as hell unwelcome. He acts like it’s a normal day, like we haven’t gone the last three years without seeing each other, for a very good reason. And then, to top it all off, he has the nerve to go and have a panic attack. Typical Taylor, always needing the spotlight on him, one way or another.

“Taylor, calm down.” I lower my voice, keeping my tone as even as possible. “Taylor. It’s okay. Just…” I groan in frustration. Tay used to have panic attacks when we first got famous, when the crowds of fans got too loud and too close. Funnily, when he started sleeping around, the panic attacks stopped; it was like he realized he was in control of the masses. On the one hand, it got rid of his fear. But on the flip side, all that perceived power went straight to his ego, making him the man he is today. Sometimes I almost preferred the panic attacks; at least they have medication for that, but there’s no drug I know of to cure being a self-centered, sex-crazed narcissist. 

“Look, relax. You’re fine, okay?” I reach out to touch Tay’s arm briefly, and he nearly jumps a mile. His eyes snap to me, going even wider, and he tries to back away like I’m trying to stab him or something. I look around; one or two people are glancing over, but that’s all… for now. 

“Dammit, Taylor. Don’t pull this shit on me now.” My words only seem to make Taylor more agitated. I realize this is only going to get worse unless I get him out of here. I pull out my cell and try calling Ike, but it goes straight to voice-mail. Of course it does. I look at Taylor again; he’s got his eyes squeezed shut and his lips are moving. He’s whispering something to himself over and over, like a mantra or a prayer, but too quietly for me to hear what it is. Yeah, this is getting bad; I run my hands through my hair, pulling slightly in frustration.

“Okay… let’s go.” I stand up, waiting for Tay to follow suit, but of course he doesn’t. “Come on Tay, let’s get out of here.” I touch him on the shoulder, and he twitches, his eyes shooting open again. I hold my hand out; I don’t know if he’ll actually take it or not, but at least my intention is clear. He looks down at my hand, then back up to my face, but doesn’t move.

“Taylor,” I repeat, my tone firm. “I said, let’s go.” That seems to get his attention; he sits up straighter, one hand on the table. I’m one wrong move away from just leaving him here; he hesitates another couple seconds, and I sort of half-growl at him. His reaction is quick, reaching out with a shaking hand and taking mine. His palm is cold and clammy, but I ignore the unpleasantness and help him out of the booth. I grab the painting in my free hand and tuck it under my arm, then let go of his hand and wrap an arm around his shoulders. He wavers a bit, but lets me lead him out of the cafe, casting sidelong glances at me now and then. 

I hail a cab, wishing I had any other option. I want to ask him where his hotel is, but I doubt he can remember his own name at this point, let alone where he’s staying. So, grudgingly, I give the taxi driver my own address. Tay looks out the window the entire drive, like he’s trying to memorize the route, maybe in case he needs to escape. It takes us about twenty minutes to get across town, thanks to the afternoon traffic. When we finally get to my building I have to practically drag my brother out of the cab; the driver gives me a funny look as I pay him, but doesn’t say anything. It kinda makes me wonder what he must see on a daily basis, but I’ve got more important things on my mind.

The elevator is out of service, just as it’s been since before I moved in, so it’s a long walk up four flights of stairs. Thanks to Tay being pretty much useless, what should take two minutes takes closer to five; I’m exhausted by the time we get to my door. I put the key in the lock, but hesitate; I never thought I’d see the day when my brother would be at my doorstep, and I never imagined I’d be letting him in, but what choice do I have? Like it or not he’s still my brother, and my stupid conscience won’t let me leave him alone when he’s like this.

“You’re only staying until you get your shit together, then you’re out of here,” I tell him over my shoulder as I open the door. “Got it?”

He nods absently, and I let out a slow breath. Nothing good can possibly come of this, but it is what it is.

****

_Taylor_

I had almost forgotten what they were like--the panic attacks, that is. Almost. 

The most terrifying and frustrating part is that a part of my brain knows what’s happening and knows that it isn’t a real or rational reaction. But the panic drowns that voice out, beating it down until I can barely hear that rational side of myself anymore. When Zac snaps at me, saying words I can barely even hear, and reaches for my arm, it only gets worse until my body just shuts the rest of the world out. It’s as though I’m drowning, everything around me distorted and muffled by the sheer terror pumping through my body.

Once the door to Zac’s apartment shuts behind us, I feel only the slightest bit of relief. Part of the cause of my panic has always been large crowds of people, so I know rationally that being in public made it worse. Yet being alone with Zac isn’t any better. I’m doing the best I can not to think of what he has planned for me now. I don’t understand why he didn’t just leave me there; he obviously wants nothing to do with me. Yet, here I am, in the place my brother calls home now.

That thought brings me back to reality more, lifting just a little bit of the haze that is clouding my mind. I glance around nervously, taking in my new surroundings. I’m immediately struck by how bare his apartment is; the living room we’re standing in is small and furnished with the bare essentials. A cabinet of video games and a few nicely framed pieces of art--some that look like his work and some that don’t--stand out as the only signs of Zac’s personality. Yet, it looks lived in; not exactly dirty, but there are signs of everyday life laying around in the form of dirty plates and scraps of paper. It doesn’t look temporary, like he might have any plan to ever leave here and come back to me. 

This is Zac’s life now. That realization does nothing to comfort me. 

I let myself collapse onto the couch, because all of this panic has left me with no energy to do anything else. Zac stands over the couch, his arms crossed like he’s waiting for some sort of answers or something. I don’t have anything for him, and the way he’s looking down at me makes that panic bubble up again. I can feel it creeping up my body, wrapping around my lungs and squeezing out the air until I’m left gasping for breath.

Zac is talking again. I hear my name, but I can’t respond. With every word he says, his voice grows more and more stern, more impatient. 

“Taylor,” he says. “Listen to me. You need to focus on me.”

Under the irritation, there’s a strange sense of authority. He knows how to deal with my panic attacks, after all. He was always the best at helping me to calm down after walking through a throng of screaming girls or playing a concert where the rumble of the crowd made me fear for my life. He knew how to help me through the attacks, and in time, I learned how to talk myself through them as well. I learned how to listen to that rational voice that told me there was truly nothing to fear.

Right now, I don’t believe that voice. What Zac did to me was every bit of what he’s accused me of doing. I may not have suffered in silence like he did, but I felt every bit of his rage flow into my body and I’ve felt it for every second of the last three years. I sought him out in the hopes that he had rid himself of that anger, that it had all left his body that day. His rant in the restaurant proved me wrong about that. 

Zac still hates me. If nothing else, I can at least see _that_ clearly now.


	5. Chains

_Zac_

I’m probably wearing a track in the floor as I pace back and forth, trying again and again to reach Ike. I glance over at Taylor; I made him a cup of tea, but he’s just holding onto it like a lifeline, letting it go cold. Add that to my list of annoyances; I don’t buy grocery store tea, and what I do get isn’t cheap. After what seems like the billionth ring, _finally_ I hear my older brother’s voice.

“Hey, Zac. What’s up?” he asks casually, as if he has no clue what could possibly be up. Nice try.

“I know you’re in Boston, and I know you brought Taylor.”

“You ran into him?” I can practically hear the grin, and I just roll my eyes.

“You could say that. You could also say he’s sitting on my couch having a fucking panic attack.”

“Um… why is he having a panic attack?”

“Why is he on _my couch_ would be a better question. What the hell, man?”

“Dude, calm down.” Ike’s voice takes on his ‘big brother’ tone, and I huff but shut up for the moment. “Look, I brought him up here because you two need to sort out whatever the hell it is that split you, hell, split _us_ apart. You don’t know what he’s been like,” Ike adds, quietly. “When you left, he just… gave up. Everything, music, family, he just shut down. And I’m not saying it was your fault, but it’s obviously because of whatever happened between you guys.”

“Ike… if you knew…”

“Yeah, well you’re the one who won’t tell me,” Ike snaps. I blink, not used to that kind of harshness from him. He sighs heavily, and I know he is probably running a hand roughly through his hair, as he does when frustrated. “Look, I just think you need to work this out. Alone. You can do this.”

“Ike, I-”

“Good luck.” And with that, the call ends. I stare at my phone, wide-eyed; I can’t believe Ike is doing this to me. I growl loudly, tossing my cell at the recliner; Taylor jumps a mile, dropping the cup and splattering the floor with cold tea and shards of ceramic. I stare at the damage, my hands shaking with anger and frustration, but one look at Tay and I know I need to pull myself together. I just have to get him back to Earth, then he’s gone. I can do this… I hope. I look at Tay again; what Ike said about him shutting down, I hadn’t really thought about it, but Taylor does look thin. He’s always been skinny, but now he’s almost _gaunt_.

“So… Nat not feeding you enough, or does her cooking just suck?” I mean it as a joke, but it comes out more like an insult. At the sound of his wife’s name Tay cringes a bit, looking further down. Maybe that’s just a sore subject; I know their relationship hasn’t ever been the steadiest, not that he’d ever seemed to care. But I know one thing that always made him smile. “How’s the rugrats? Ezra’s what, ten now? Eleven? What about little Penny, how’s she?” 

Instead of cheering him up, the mention of his kids’ names actually makes him retract further. Now I’m starting to worry. Just how much ‘shutting down’ did he do? Ike said he gave up on family, but… Whatever Taylor did on tour, when he was home he was all about his wife and children; well, his children, anyway. 

“Tay?” I ask, softer. “What happened with Nat and the kids?”

He looks up at me with the biggest, saddest eyes, but instead of answering he just shrugs. I sit next to him he flinches away; I take a deep breath and move a little further away, and he seems to relax a little.

“Look, Tay… I’m sorry for ripping into you back there. I’m not saying I take it back,” I firmly state, “But I shouldn’t have done it in public like that. Okay?” I go to put a hand on his shoulder, but he flinches away again.

“Dammit, Tay, I’m not gonna hurt you! Would you stop acting like I’m out to get you?” I shouldn’t snap, but I’m just pissed that he’s treating me like some big scary bully… and then it starts to click. That’s exactly how he sees me. Apparently he doesn’t remember what caused it, or doesn’t care; all he’s obviously thinking of now is how rough I was on him.

Maybe I did take it a little too far…

****

_Taylor_

Zac runs a shaky hand through his hair, then stands up. Motioning toward the mess I’ve apparently made with his tea, he says, “I’m just… I’m going to clean this up.”

He picks up the shattered tea cup and stalks off toward his kitchen. Even though there’s still obviously a current of anger running through him, his shoulders droop almost as if in defeat as he walks away. I watch him walk until he vanishes around a corner into the kitchen, and then I focus on the sounds of him shuffling around and tossing out the cup I ruined. 

I have to focus on something right now, even the smallest noise like that, to keep myself calm. Calm is a relative word right now, though. My body and mind feel completely disconnected, and I can’t seem to find the way to put them back together. 

I try to trace the sequence of events that has led to me sitting alone on Zac’s couch while he cleans up my mess. He threw his phone--no, he was talking to someone on the phone. Isaac. I couldn’t follow their conversation, but obviously it upset Zac, causing him to throw his phone and me to spill my tea. Then he tried to talk to me, even though he was clearly still angry. He asked about Natalie and the kids. Why would he ask about them? Didn’t he know?

He didn’t. At least, I don’t think he knew. Just how much he and Ike have chatted about me, I don’t really know, but the confusion on Zac’s face _seemed_ genuine.

Everything about Zac’s demeanor right now confuses me. He yells at me that he’s not angry. He talks softly and calmly with clenched fists. I don’t know which of these things to believe. Maybe they’re all lies. I just don’t know, and I suspect that Zac doesn’t want me to know. All he wants is for me to leave, I suppose. Yet here he is, making me tea and cleaning up after me when I’m too stupid to keep my hands on the tea cup. None of this makes any sense at all.

The sound of a tea kettle whistling brings me out of my thoughts and back to reality. Even though my heart is still pounding, my anxiety has dulled some. A moment later, when Zac walks out of the kitchen, a tea cup in each hand, that anxiety returns but not quite at the same level as before.

“Here,” he says, holding out one of the cups to me. With a tired smirk, he adds, “I know you were born to break shit, but please try not to drop this one, okay?”

Carefully, I take the steaming cup from him and cradle it in my hands. Even though my mouth is dry, I force myself to speak. “Th-thanks,” I say, looking up at Zac and offering him a weak attempt at a smile.

He gives me a little nod, then sits down at the other end of the couch. He doesn’t seem to be seething anymore, but that doesn’t mean he won’t explode again at any moment. To be on the safe side, I decide just to sip my tea as quietly and carefully as possible, and leave Zac alone. 

I still don’t understand why he’s keeping me here and why he’s pretending to care about me. He made it pretty damn clear that he doesn’t care at all; if I took nothing else away from the way he left me, it was that I meant nothing to him. 

“You know,” Zac said, setting his cup on the coffee table, “you still owe me for that painting.”

That painting… I had almost forgotten about it, even though it’s the reason I’m here now. If I hadn’t been so determined to get one of his paintings for myself, I wouldn’t be stuck on his couch right now. It was pure coincidence that I stumbled into that gallery in the first place, though, so I have no one to blame for my discovery of Zac’s art. The content of his art, though… that’s something I _can_ blame myself for, since it’s glaringly obvious to me that the tormented brushstrokes are all because of me. 

“Oh,” I finally manage to say, my voice still hoarse. “How much did you want? Of course I’ll pay for it.”

“I don’t fucking care,” Zac says, sighing heavily and rubbing his eyes. “Just… whatever.”

“You said two-fifty, right? I could pay that much, or more. Whatever you want.”

“Yeah, sure. Fine.” Zac doesn’t look up, leaning back and rubbing his temples.

Zac seems to be getting frustrated, and I’m not sure why. He’s the one who isn’t just telling me what he wants. I stare at him for a moment before saying, “Can you please just tell me what you want? Just… what do I need to pay you or do for you or whatever before I can just _go_?”

Zac turns slowly and looks at me, his brow furrowed, his lip curled into an almost-sneer.

“What do you mean, before you can _go_? You think I’m holding you here? You think I _want_ you here? What I _want_ is for you to get over your prissy diva panic attack and go back to whatever rock you crawled out from under!”

I cringe at his words, not even noticing how hard I’m shaking until I hear the tea cup clinking in my hand. I try to steady it, but it’s too late. Hot tea goes splashing all over my hand, my pants and Zac’s couch. I slowly raise my eyes to meet Zac’s, still processing his words.

He _doesn’t_ want me here?


	6. Closing Doors

_Zac_

Have you ever had a moment when something makes you so angry, so full of blinding rage, that your brain glitches and has to reset? Yeah. Me too. I take a deep breath, then another; I close my eyes, because seeing the _second_ mess Taylor’s created will only make things worse. I stand up, hands on my hips to keep them from shaking. I need a smoke.

“Washer’s down the hall,” I say, keeping my voice as unaffected as possible. “There should be clean pants in the dryer.” I don’t look at my brother, again to avoid getting upset further; I turn around and head to my room, thanking the gods I have an emergency joint rolled. I can’t get it lit quick enough, and half of it’s gone when I hear the washing machine start. I hear footsteps, and I pray Taylor is smart enough to leave me alone, but I know him better than that.

“Come in if you’re going to,” I sigh. The weed is taking the edge off, and even though I still hate that I’m stuck here with him, I don’t feel the urge to rip his head off anymore. I look up as he shuffles in, wearing a pair of my jeans that are barely hanging on his hips. I think about how we used to wear the same size; maybe I was a little bigger, but there seems to be a lot more of a difference now.

“I’m sorry about the cup… and the couch… and the floor… I’ll leave as soon as my pants are clean…” Taylor half-mumbles his apologies, and I roll my eyes.

“Do you honestly think I give a crap about a stupid cup?” I wonder if he really is as clueless as he’s acting, or if he’s just playing the pity card like always. But I’ve never seen him look this… small, in every sense of the word. Ike’s words come back to me again, about Taylor shutting down, and I feel like I need to find out more.

“So… Nat and the kids?” I ask. If it’s a tough subject, oh well; he’s the one that barged back into my life.

Taylor shrugs, as though he doesn’t know, then softly says, “They’re in Georgia.”

“Like a vacation?” I have to ask, even though I’m pretty sure that’s about as far from the truth as I could get. 

Sure enough, Taylor just shakes his head, staring at the floor. “Jesus, Tay… You really don’t care about anyone but yourself, do you? Not even your _kids_?” 

“So I let her go, so what? She’d been looking for an excuse for years, so I saved her the trouble.”

“Right, how generous of you. What about me, was I looking for an excuse? How about Ike? How long until he gives up on you, too? How long until you drive away anyone who’s ever given a crap about you?”

Taylor’s head snaps up. “Yeah, and what a way to show how much of a crap they give. Leaving.”

“Maybe they wouldn’t leave if you actually treated them like they matter. Oh wait, I forgot, _they don’t_.” I’m starting to lose control again, but I just can’t help it. Taylor goes through people like tissues, useful for a few seconds, then trash to be cast aside.

“Why would you say that?” Taylor asks, a mixture of hurt and indignance on his face. “Why would you think that you--that they--don’t matter to me?”

“Are you seriously asking me that? What the fuck is wrong with you?” My hands are shaking again, and it’s taking all my willpower not to punch him. This has got to be an act; there’s no way anyone is that oblivious. 

“I never claimed to be a nice person. Or a good person. You know that, but why does that mean I’m incapable of having emotions? Of caring?”

“Well if you do care, you’ve got a real fucked up way of showing it.”

“What was I supposed to do?” Taylor asks. “It was all fucked up, and--”

“And what? Yeah, it was all fucked up, but you’re the one that started it. So what you were _supposed_ to do was not make out with your fucking brother!” I stand up, slamming my feet to the floor, and storm back out to the living room. I need to get some space between us before things get more out of hand than they already are.

****

_Taylor_

I let Zac storm past me, almost afraid to follow after him. His words echo in my mind, and I know he’s right. I knew all along that it was fucked up, and it never stopped me. Why didn’t it stop me? I was already asking myself that question even before I fully realized what I had done to Zac. Now it’s one of the only thoughts I have, running through my mind constantly, and rarely does a satisfying answer follow it.

After standing alone in Zac’s bedroom for a moment, I begin to wonder if he’s coming back. He hasn’t left the apartment entirely, or I would have heard the door slam. At first, all I can hear is the washing machine entering its spin cycle. I strain to listen for any other noise that might alert me to what Zac is doing, and I’m rewarded with a scream that causes me to jump backward. That primal sound, which I can only assume came from Zac, is followed shortly after by a crash.

Against my better judgment, I hurry out of Zac’s bedroom, some strange sense of concern for him forcing me to move. As I approach the living room, I can hear him cursing, his voice a low growl that frightens me, but still I keep moving. The crashes continue, and as I round the corner, I realize what I’m hearing. Zac has smashed the painting, the one I sneakily plotted to buy from him, and is now tearing into it, reducing it to nothing but shreds.

“Zac,” I say, my voice coming out weak. I clear my throat and try again. “Zac! Stop!”

He ignores me completely, and I’m not sure if he’s just being stubborn or if he doesn’t even realize I’m there. He’s lost in his own world, tearing into the canvas with his bare hands.

“Zac, please,” I say loudly. “You don’t need to do this! The painting didn’t do anything to you. If you want to hit something, why don’t you just hit me?”

Zac whips around to stare at me, his cheeks streaked with tears and anger flashing in his eyes. I knew that would get his attention, and though I’m a little afraid of him actually doing as I say, I know I would deserve it. I barely even bother to brace myself as Zac rushes toward me. The muscles in his arms tense as he pulls back to deliver a punch I no doubt have earned. At the last second, he turns away from me, his fist denting the wall instead of my face. 

“Why are you here?” he shouts, cradling his hand. Without a second glance at me, he turns back and collapses onto the couch. 

That’s the question, isn’t it? I shouldn’t be here, but I saw a chance and I had to take it. And for what? Now I’m not so sure. Taking a few hesitant steps toward the couch, I reply, “It’s not like I planned this… like I came here just to see you. But then I saw your painting, and I just had to see. I had to try.”

“I was doing good here. I was building something. A life, a name; one just for me. Why couldn’t you let me have that?”

He’s not looking at me when he speaks but his words alone are enough to shake me and make me doubt what I’m about to say. “Because I _don’t_ have a life anymore. I’m not trying to take yours, but I’d like to get mine back. Even just a little bit.”

“So what’s stopping you? You take whatever you want anyway.”

“Don’t you get it?” I nearly shout, standing over him. “It’s you. I get that I drove you away, but you left and there was just… nothing left. Nothing of _me_ left.”

“But _why_? I never asked to be your… whatever. I didn’t sign up for that! So why would you put that on me?” He stares up at me, still visibly furious, but there’s a desperation in his eyes as he pleads for an answer I don’t have to give.

I shake my head. This isn’t going how I intended, although it’s not as though I’ve had any semblance of control over this day. “I didn’t… I wasn’t trying to put anything on you. But once we got famous, it’s not like there were a lot of people around who I could really trust… people who really cared. Who I cared about. And I know I didn’t show it, not in any sort of normal way, so you don’t need to remind me again.” 

“Oh don’t worry, I won’t. Soon as you leave, I’m out of here. And this time, _no one_ finds out where I am. So why don’t you just run along, and have your precious life back, because you will never, _ever_ see me again!”

Hot tears begin to spill from my eyes, nearly obscuring the fact that Zac is quickly heading for the door. At first I think he’s going to leave his own apartment, but then I realize that he’s holding the door open for me. But I’m not leaving. I can’t leave. I’m rooted to the spot, but shaking like a leaf as I say, “Don’t you get it? I won’t have my life back then. As long as… as long as you’re gone, there’s nothing.”

He stares at me, eyes burning, nostrils flaring, fists shaking. “Not. My. Problem."

“How is it _not_ your problem?” I practically screech. Zac storms back over so quickly I’m sure he’s going to hit me for real this time, but he stops short, practically nose to nose with me.

“You used me!” he shouts, his voice breaking. His eyes are crazed, overflowing with raw emotion, and tears are threatening to fall. 

“I loved you!” I shout, my tears falling even faster now, burning my eyes. “I still love you. Before all the fame and the bullshit, it was always you and me, you know? Like twins born two years apart. And then we got famous and everybody loved me, but they didn’t really, did they? Not the fans, not even Natalie. They didn’t really know me or understand me. They weren’t like you, and I just… I just wanted someone to _really_ love me, and I’m so fucking sorry that it was you, because I _knew_ it was wrong. But I love you, okay? I fucking love you.”


	7. Catharsis

_Zac_

I stand there, staring in disbelief. Taylor told me he loved me before, back in the hotel, but then it seemed like a throw-away phrase, a sad attempt at stopping me from leaving. But this time… It’s impossible to ignore the raw emotion behind his words. And I can see the logic behind them; when the band blew up, we all clung to each other for comfort and sanity, Taylor and I most of all. That’s why I never pushed him away, even though I should have known better from the start.

“Why do you think I let you start all this?” My voice sounds tired and weak, exactly how I feel. All the rage, the fiery energy that fueled me just seconds ago, drained out of me with every word my brother said, leaving me empty. “I loved you, too.”

“Let me?” Taylor says, his voice full of confusion. “Why you would let me treat you like that? Even if you loved me… why didn’t you try to stop me sooner?”

“Because,” I sigh, looking away. “I didn’t want to lose what little I had. Yeah, it was fucked up, but… at least it was better than nothing.” And it’s true. As much as I eventually loathed him for torturing me, I couldn’t stand the thought of giving up those brief moments where I could pretend he really cared, and that I wasn’t just another toy for him to play with.

“I think a part of me, deep down, was trying to do the right thing and just _stop_ , but I didn’t. I couldn’t. I wanted you to love me and I wanted to love you, but… I treated you just like I treated everyone else. Or worse.”

“I got used to it,” I say, shrugging and heading back to the couch. “It got to the point where I knew the signs, when you were going to do something. And I learned how to, like… turn everything off and just enjoy it. Until you went away again; then I’d deal with it on my own.” I remember so many nights, in hotel rooms or on the bus, head burrowed into the pillow to muffle the sound of my crying, of the screams I’d let out in anger, frustration, despair. I’d always make sure never to let anyone know what it did to me, especially Taylor. 

I watch Tay as he slowly makes his way over, sitting next to me; he doesn’t say a word, though, and for that I’m grateful. There’s a lot that needs to be said, and now that I’m too exhausted to shout, I think I can finally vent without wanting to lash out.

“I think I didn’t want you to see what you were doing to me,” I say, looking away again. “I think part of me was afraid if you saw how much I cared, you really would stop… and I didn’t want that. I wanted you… just you, all of you. Not just the physical… I wanted the parts of yourself you didn’t let anyone see.” I close my eyes and let out a deep sigh; I’ve never really talked out loud about this, not even to myself, and it feels strange to put it into words. My chest feels tight, and my eyes are stinging again. 

“I wanted that too,” Taylor says softly. “I mean, I wanted someone who could love me just for me. The real me. Someone who saw who I really was and didn’t hate me for it. So much for that, huh?” He laughs weakly, and my heart aches.

“Taylor,” I say quietly, reaching over to touch his knee. “I wanted the real you, but I didn’t think he existed anymore. All I ever saw was this… diva playboy act. I just wanted Tay back. Not Taylor Hanson. Just Tay.”

“I think I forgot how to be him a long time ago. And then I forgot how to be… anything.”

“It’s not too late. I know he’s in there somewhere. You wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t.” I turn to face my brother, and all the anger, all the years of resentment suddenly seem not so important. Sure, I was technically the victim, and what Taylor did was horrible. But maybe not unforgivable. 

“Listen… that night, at the hotel. I…” I take a shaky breath, looking at Tay’s eyes, and make a decision. I need to let go of the hate, the poison between us. And the first step of that is admitting that I’m not the innocent victim I’ve been pretending to be.

“I’m sorry.”

****

_Taylor_

“No,” I say as firmly as I possibly can, which isn’t very firm at all. “What you did to me, three years of that… that’s nothing compared to what I put you through for half your life. If you think you need to apologize, I accept. But I’m the one who’s sorry. I’m sorry that I was too busy hiding from myself and trying to protect myself that I didn’t realize how badly I was hurting you. I’m so, so sorry, Zac.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he says, shaking his head. “What I did to you… I wanted to _hurt_ you. I’m glad I didn’t, but at the time… I wanted to break you down, in every way.”

“And I’m not saying that you didn’t, but maybe… maybe in a way I needed to be broken,” I reply, ignoring how incredulous Zac looks. What I’m saying barely even makes sense to me, but maybe, just maybe I’m onto something. “I don’t know how else I would have realized what I’d done to you. Going through something like that, even just a little bit… I finally understood how awful I had been, and _that’s_ what has destroyed me. Not what you did to me, but the realization of what I had done to you and how horrible I was.”

“So… what do we do now?”

“I don’t know,” I admit. This should feel like a huge weight off my chest, but somehow it doesn’t. What’s missing? What hasn’t been said or done? “I forgive you, because I was never upset with you, only with myself. And I hope, somehow, someday… you can forgive me. But I understand if you can’t. And if you can’t, then… then I really don’t know what happens next.”

Zac takes a deep breath and stares down at his lap. “I think,” he says slowly, as if he’s actually forming the thoughts and words simultaneously. “I think I can forgive you. At least, I can start to. I think I understand now, why you did it. And honestly... hating you is really fucking hard,” he finishes, looking up and laughing nervously.

“Well, we can’t both hate me, right?” 

I was hoping for a laugh or something in reply to that, but all I get is a sad pout. There’s an unfamiliar weight on my knee, and I actually have to glance down to realize that it’s Zac’s hand. I raise my eyes back to his face and the sadness on it makes me feel even worse. Was what I said really that bad? It might have been a joke, but there _was_ truth behind it.

“You’re not a bad person, Tay,” Zac says, taking my hand. “You’ve just made some bad choices. Like who to fall in love with,” he adds with an uneasy chuckle.

I glance down at our hands and let out a hoarse laugh. “It’s too late to fix that, I think. But maybe… there are other things I can make up for? Somehow?”

Zac nods, but doesn’t say anything; he stares at me for a minute with an almost curious focus, like he’s seeing me for the first time. His stare is so intense that it’s uncomfortable, but it doesn’t hold quite as much judgment as I expected. There’s something different there now; not pity, but close. 

“You grew your hair out again. It looks nice.” 

I shrug. I hadn’t made any sort of conscious decision to grow my hair out; it was just another thing I let go. It’s a big deal for Zac to compliment me, though, so I force a smile and say, “Thanks.”

“So… what have you been up to?” He asks.

I just stare at him. What does he _think_ I’ve been up to?

“Sorry,” he says, looking down and pouting. “Feels weird, you being here.” He looks up at me with a hint of a smile. “I thought about you.”

“I know,” I reply. Softly, I add, “I didn’t think about much of anything _but_ you.”

“Same here,” Zac admits with a sigh. “I tried not to; I tried to forget all about you, honestly. Should’ve known that wasn’t going to happen…” He offers me another smile, one that almost reminds me of the old Zac.

“I thought you had a life here,” I say almost teasingly. “If either of us should have been able to move on, it should have been you.”

“Not for lack of trying,” he says with a shrug. “I get by… I go to school, I paint; actually had a regular job for a while. Even went on a few dates.”

“What, couldn’t find anybody who was up to your standards?” I know I’m probably pushing my luck by attempting to joke around with him, but I think one more moment of seriousness might kill me. I’ve bared my soul enough for right now.

“What can I say?” Zac replies, smirking sheepishly. “You’re a tough act to follow. Kinda set the bar pretty high…” He looks me up and down briefly, then glances away, blushing slightly.

I can feel myself blushing too, but I know beneath his joke, there’s a little bit of truth. He could certainly do better than me, but what happened in that hotel room three years ago changed us both. Afterward, I had no desire to be with Natalie or anyone else. It was partially because I didn’t trust myself not to destroy anyone I touched, but it was also because I finally realized the depth of my feelings for Zac. No one else would ever be him, so why bother?

“I tried, really. Girls and guys. But none of them felt right.” He stares at his lap, scratching at a paint spot on his jeans. “No one’s ever felt right, except… well, you know.” He glances up, smirking, but there’s a hint of fear in his eyes.

“I know,” I reply softly. “I haven’t even tried. There was no point, when I finally realized what I really wanted… and then lost it just as quickly.”

****

_Zac_

I nod, taking in Taylor’s words. It’s so strange, him being here, telling me he loves me… but what’s even weirder is that I believe it. And not just believe it, but accept it. I think I can understand now, why he did what he did; it doesn’t make it right, but he seems to finally realize that. It feels good to let go of the hate, too, like a huge weight off my shoulders. Looking at him now, I don’t feel any bitterness or resentment. I don’t see a monster, a shallow diva, a twisted, selfish narcissist. All I see is a man, one I’ve always loved, always wanted.

And I still want him.

It’s been there all afternoon, at the very back of my mind; the voice of rage drowned it out before, but now there’s nothing stopping it from rising to the forefront. I can’t stop looking at him, taking in every little detail and comparing it to my memories. If anything, the frailness has only added to his beauty, giving him even more of the androgynous quality I’ve always found strangely attractive.

He looks down, blushing, and I feel the same pull that’s always drawn me to him. He bites his lip and I wonder what it tastes like. He looks up at me through his lashes, and I picture his eyes, dark with the same desire I feel. I haven’t had to control myself like this in a long time, and I’m afraid my will isn’t strong enough.

“I don’t just mean sexually,” he says, his face turning crimson. “It goes so much deeper than that, deeper than anything else I’ve ever felt. It’s so fucked up to realize just how many people I’ve hurt, and I’m not saying I don’t regret hurting all the others, but hurting you… that’s the worst. That’s what I can’t forgive myself for.”

“Taylor,” I say, taking his hands in mine. I try to ignore the heat they give, and the heat they cause in me. “What you did was fucked up, yeah… but there’s nothing you can do to go back and change it. All you can change is yourself. If you don’t like who you were, then don’t be that guy anymore.” It sounds like lame advice, but I need to help him get over this. It’s been too long, both of us being eaten up by our past. It’s time to move on, to move forward; the more I think about it, the more I want us to do that together, whatever the context.

“I do want to change,” Taylor says, his bangs falling in his face as he stares down at our hands. “I think that’s why I came here in the first place. Not to Boston, but to you. I want to change, Zac. So what do I do now?”

I stare at him, knowing what answer I want to give. But I’m scared. It’s been so long, and the last time Tay and I… The last thing I want to do now is hurt him. But I don’t want to get hurt, either. A war is being waged inside me, the noise of battle making it hard to think. I stare at Taylor, at his big blue eyes and pouting lips, at his beautiful face, looking far more innocent than he has any right to look. I take a deep breath, gripping Tay’s hands and feeling their warmth. I’ve felt so cold for so long, but I didn’t realize until now how much I missed this feeling. I stare at Taylor… and I kiss him.


	8. Taste of Your Touch

_Taylor_

When I see Zac advancing on me, my initial reaction is to brace myself for impact, but I know this time he isn’t going to punch me. Still, it’s a shock to feel his lips against mine, and even more of a shock that they feel exactly like I remember. I’ve repeated the events of that night so many times in my mind until they almost didn’t seem real anymore, but the second I feel that strange mixture of soft and rough touching my lips, it all comes flooding back like never before. 

The second that the shock wears off and I remember to move, Zac pulls back and stares at me, eyes wide and full of a mixture of confusion and surprise. He almost seems afraid, or… nervous, I suppose. Hesitantly, he asks, “Is… is this okay?”

“Yeah,” I reply softly, then clear my throat and repeat the word more confidently. “Yeah, it’s… more than okay. I don’t really have a word for what it is, but it is _so_ much more than okay.”

He gives me a smile that makes me feel weak in the knees. It doesn’t spread all the way across his face, but it’s genuine. Without another word, he leans in and presses his lips to mine again. Instinctively, without thinking about what I’m doing, I part my lips for him, and that’s it. His hesitance is gone, and he’s kissing me with fervor, exploring my mouth as if he’d never been there before.

He pulls me closer, a hand finding its way into my hair. His hand full of my hair, not quite pulling but still gripping it firmly, he lets out an oddly joyful moan. I can’t deny that I feel the same way, even though I can’t remember ever enjoying having my hair played with as much as I do right now. 

Pulling back from the kiss, but still holding tightly onto my hair, he says, “I always liked your hair longer.”

“Yeah? You did?” I ask, my cheeks heating up a little. It’s strange to suddenly feel self conscious about my looks, even when he’s complimenting me, because I know I don’t look as good right now as I once did. I’ve always taken pride in my appearance, and felt good about it. I could say that I don’t know when or how that changed, but it would be a lie.

“Yeah,” Zac replies, nodding. He looks down for a moment, still stroking my hair. “I wanted to punch those label guys who told you to cut it.”

I nudge his chin up, forcing him to meet my eyes. “And I wanted to be brave enough to leave my hair the way it was and tell them to get bent like somebody I know did.”

****

_Zac_

I chuckle as I remember the look on the record exec’s face, wide-eyed at the nerve of a fifteen year old kid telling him where to stick his ‘focus group’. It would’ve been worth it just for that, but the shocked grin on Tay’s face made it that much better. It wasn’t often he looked at me like that, like I was worth something, but I lived for the times he did. It was the same way when he came to me at night; as frustrated as it always left me, during those brief moments I felt like I really meant something to him. Like he wanted me just as badly as I wanted him.

Looking at him now, trying to accept that he really had, and still does, I feel the thrill I used to. His blue eyes are shining with a mischievous gleam, but for once there’s no edge to it; before, when he’d look at me, it was like a cat eyeing a mouse caught in a trap. But now, he looks at me like an equal, like someone he needs, and not something to play with. It hits me like an emotional wave, but the pull is deeper, more base and primal. The thought that he needs me, that his body craves mine, feeds the fire I’ve tried to suppress for so long. 

I’ve waited long enough, and so has he. Without another word I pull his face closer to mine, kissing him deeply. I bury my fingers deeper in his hair, my other arm wrapping tightly around his waist. I don’t want to be too rough, especially after what I put him through, so I’m trying to hold back. But the heat is taking over, clouding my mind, and it’s all I can do to stay in control. I lean Taylor back, moving his hair aside to kiss his neck. His skin is soft, just as I remember, and I take my time exploring with teeth and tongue.

I look up at Tay, hoping I’m not going too far or too fast, but his grin tells me I’m doing fine. I get back to it, letting my hands slide down the sides of his chest, fingers sneaking under his shirt. His body is cool to the touch, as usual for him, and it feels almost too good, like ice on a sunburn. I need to taste him there too, and so a second later I’m dropping to my knees. A quick glance up gives me all the reassurance I need, and I push the fabric of his shirt out of the way. At first I lean my cheek against his silky skin, but I need more than that. 

Staring up at him, I dart my tongue out at the thin line of hair peeking out from the waist of his… _my_ jeans. The thought of him in my pants makes me smirk, but it also drives my mind to dirty places. My eyes follow the path his body has laid out for me, taking in every curve, every rise and fall. I run my hands up and down his thighs, feeling them tense beneath my touch. My fingers make their way to the button, slowly undoing it and the zipper that follows. I catch his eyes again and I see the same hunger I know is reflected in my own.

****

_Taylor_

I can do nothing more than stare down at Zac in awe. This is not the same boy who used me three years ago. This Zac is hesitant, seeking my approval as he wraps his hand loosely around my rapidly hardening dick. I smile at him and run my fingers through his hair, hoping that will assure him he’s doing fine. I’m already speechless, so I have no words of encouragement for him.

That little action seems to be enough. Zac’s eyelashes flutter as he leans down and places the softest kiss on the head of my dick. Even that minuscule, nearly imperceptible touch is enough to make me moan. Zac stares up at me as he opens his mouth and slides it down my length, inch after inch disappearing into the incredible heat of his mouth. He’s still a little hesitant, and I have to wonder how many times he’s done this-- _if_ he’s done this to anyone else. 

A very depraved part of me hopes that he hasn’t. I like being the only person he has been with like this, even if I can’t say the same about him. I like the idea that there’s no one else he wants quite this much. I hope he knows I feel the same. 

As he works his mouth up and down on my dick, he seems to gain confidence. His left hand finds my balls, cupping them gently. He couldn’t possibly know how much I love that. Then again, perhaps he does. I’ve always had a theory that sexual chemistry isn’t something that can be learned. You either have it or you don’t, and if you don’t, the relationship is probably doomed. I wish I had learned that years ago. It might have stopped me from wondering why no one was ever enough for me and I couldn’t stop kissing my brother… my gorgeous brother, who’s tongue is now making its way to my balls.

“Oh god…” I moan as Zac plants little kisses and tentative licks over one of the most sensitive parts of my body. 

I watch him intently, silently praying his tongue will go lower. He must hear my prayers, because he shifts positions some and _finally_ lets his tongue land on the part of me no other man--or woman--has touched for three years. His dark eyes glance up at me for approval, and I give it in the form of an eager nod. The tip of his tongue slips inside me, and my head falls back against the couch. It’s unbelievable how even the slightest touch from Zac can completely undo me. I rake my hand through his hair again, hoping to encourage him to go even further.

He does. His tongue slides in and out of me, mimicking what I wish his dick was doing. A finger slips in to join it, meeting surprisingly little resistance from my body. After a moment, he removes his tongue entirely, but I don’t even mind anymore. A second finger makes me forget about his tongue entirely, filling me and stretching me--not too much, but just enough to burn. It’s a burn I used to relish, and one that I haven’t felt for so, so long. I had almost forgotten how much I needed this… how much I needed him.

And I need more.


	9. Sweet Release

_Zac_

My hands are shaking, and I don’t dare open my eyes Everything is so overwhelming; the feel of Taylor’s body, the sounds he’s making, the barely-restrained emotions threatening to knock me senseless. I can’t remember when I’ve been this turned on, in every sense of the word. As I eagerly lap up my brother’s taste, I can’t get my pants off fast enough. I look up at him, and I don’t even need to ask. I lay back on the floor, and motion for him to join me. I need to be inside him, but I need him to be in control. I can’t let this be like last time, not even a little.

The look of relief on Taylor’s face tells me I’m making the right decision. He smiles in such a grateful, loving way, and I feel my chest ache just a bit more. He crawls down over me, and gives me a long, languid kiss, teasing my lips with his tongue. I rest my hands on his hips, consciously willing myself to keep my grip loose. This is torture, but the sweetest kind, one I’d gladly subject myself to for eternity. A helpless whine comes from my throat, surprising both of us, and he smirks down at me.

“You sure this is what you want?” Tay’s tone is light, almost teasing, but I can see the gravity his words hold. I nod, tightening my hold on him a bit.

“As long as you’re sure.”

He eyes me for a second, looking for some sign of truth, and I hold my breath. But a moment later he kisses me again, assuring me he’s as sure as I am. He moves slowly, still teasing, but that’s just how he is. I do my best not to pull him down, and let him set the pace. His face tenses up as he begins to lower himself onto me, and I reach up to cup his cheek.

“You okay?”

“Mhm,” he replies, nodding. “Just… been a while…” He looks away, his cheeks turning red, and I’m positive that shouldn’t turn me on as much as it does. Finally I feel his hips hit mine, and I wrap my arms around him. He’s trembling, and I worry that I’m hurting him, but he gives me a lusty smirk.

“You’re not exactly small, you know.”

Now my cheeks match his, as I roll my eyes and try not to grin. I run a hand up and down his back, gently massaging the tense muscles. He leans into the touch, arching his back and grinding his hips, and I groan. Smirking, he repeats the motion, lifting up for a moment before dropping down again. I let him set the pace, my hands there for balance and nothing more. He moves slowly, almost seeming to tease himself as much as me. It doesn’t take long for both of us to break a sweat, and for my control to become dangerously weak.

“Taylor,” I gasp, leaning up to capture his neck between my teeth. He moans in response, and speeds up just a bit. My hands find the curve of his ass, gripping and pulling him onto me harder. Slow and sensuous is more than wonderful, but I can’t stand it much longer. He senses my need, picking up the pace and burying his face in my neck. I reach between us, wrapping my hand around him; he gasps and throws his head back, looking like a top-rate porn star. 

“Zac…”

****

_Taylor_

“I know,” he gasps, nibbling my shoulder. “Me too.”

I’m reasonably certain that I didn’t say anything other than his name, yet he still knows exactly what I meant. Sex has never been an emotional thing for me, so it feels ridiculous to say that I’ve never felt this connected to Zac before, but it’s true. Even when we saw each other every day of our lives, I don’t think we understood each other the way we do now. All the walls between us are gone now, though. All that’s left in place of those walls is love. Love and sheer, absolute bliss.

My head falls down onto Zac’s shoulder as we both draw closer and closer to the edge. I snake my hand in between our bodies and cover Zac’s hand with mine. It’s not a big thing, but even that little bit more skin to skin contact with him feels amazing. I know it’s not physically possible, but I wish that every inch of our bodies could touch. This feeling of connectedness, of being practically the same person, needs to never end. 

But it will end, and that end is coming closer with every second and every thrust. 

I bury my face in Zac’s neck as my orgasm begins, wave after wave of pleasure crashing over my body and leaving me clawing at Zac’s body to anchor myself. My own moans are muffled, and Zac’s sound miles away. He comes seconds after I do, his strong hands pulling my hips down so that I can’t move at all--not that I have any desire to, while I can practically _feel_ his orgasm coursing through my own body. 

His hands fall away, but I still don’t move right away. It takes me a few moments to remember how to breathe and regain control of my muscles. Gradually, I peel myself away from Zac, but I don’t stray far. I can’t. I only make it as far as the floor next to him, my body flush against the side of his. 

Zac doesn’t say anything, but we’re both still breathing heavily, so I try not to take his silence as a bad sign. Reality is slowly starting to set back in, and the reality is that we’re both sticky, sweaty messes. I start to wipe away from of the sweat on my face, and I feel Zac’s eyes on me. There’s something in his stare that worries me and makes me feel self conscious. 

“Are you okay?” He asks, his voice full of so much concern that it scares me a little.

I nod and give him a smile. A drop of wetness rolls down my cheek and onto my lip and I realize that it isn’t sweat at all. 

It’s a tear. I’m crying.

****

_Zac_

Oh no. I see a tear roll down Taylor’s face, and I panic. Immediately I sit up, my hand reaching out to him but stopping. I don’t know what he needs--comfort, space, words, quiet? I don’t know what to do, all I know is that Tay’s crying and it’s my fault. Again. Was this a mistake? He seemed like he’d wanted it, but maybe that was just my fucked up mind playing tricks on me, because if he had, he wouldn’t be crying, right?

“Tay?” I say slowly, carefully, watching for any sign of what to do. 

He shakes his head and wipes away a fat tear. “No, it’s… I’m fine. You didn’t do anything--I mean, nothing’s wrong. It’s just a lot, you know? Overwhelming, I guess.”

I nod; that makes sense. My mind is spinning trying to process it all, so I can only imagine how it must be for Tay, who’d only barely recovered--if even--from his earlier panic attack. I rack my brain for anything that can help; usually I’d just smoke the stress away. Actually, I realize, that isn’t a terrible idea.

“I’ll be right back,” I tell him as I stand up. My legs are all wobbly, and I have to steady myself for a second. I shuffle into the bedroom, grabbing a clean pair of boxers from the dresser before sitting on the bed. I’m just pulling my bag of weed and rolling papers when I hear footsteps; a second later, Tay stumbles in, fingers still on the button of my jeans. I look up, and I lose my breath for a second.

Taylor looks even more beautiful than I remembered; his hair is disheveled and hanging in his face, his blue eyes peeking out nervously from behind the golden curtain. I wince as I notice a couple darkening bruises on his neck, but I remind myself that those are marks of love, of passion, not of anger. I smile uneasily and look down, quickly rolling a joint for us to share.

When I stand up he holds a hand out to me, hesitantly. He looks so unsure, and I can’t blame him, but there’s hope in his smile, too. I try to give him a reassuring smile as I take his hand, the two of us heading back into the living room. I sit at one end, and he sits almost at the other; I get the sense the distance is more for my benefit than for his, but right now I want to be close.

“C’mere,” I say, smirking and patting my lap. His eyes light up like I just told him Christmas was coming early this year. He chews his lip for a second, then lays down on his side, his head in my lap. After lighting the joint and taking a small hit, I run my fingers through his hair, and he lets out a contented sigh; I keep stroking his hair and he smiles, closing his eyes.

“How you feeling?” I ask cautiously, passing him the joint. He seems alright, but I need to be sure.

“A little tired and sore,” he replies, a hint of a smirk on his lips. He takes a small hit, his fingers shaking a bit as he passes it back. “Still halfway convinced this has all just been a dream, I think.”

I frown slightly; I know he meant it as a joke, or at least partly, but I feel like I need to convince him that it’s real. Or maybe it’s me that needs convincing. After everything we’ve both been through, it really does feel like this is a hallucination. I stare down at him, running a hand over his cheek. His eyelids flutter as he looks up at me. I feel my breath catch in my throat, but there are words that need to be said, and not out of anger.

“Tay…” I begin. It was so easy to scream it at him, so why is saying it sincerely so much harder? I take a deep hit, stalling; the weed is helping my nerves, but not my eloquence. I open my mouth to speak, but apparently he’s better with words than I am; he always has been, really.

“Not to rehash what we’ve already gone around and around about, but…” He pauses to let out a shaky sigh. “The last three years have basically been a nightmare. I kept hoping I would just wake up and it wouldn’t be real at all, you know? But this… I don’t want to wake up from this. I’d be fine staying just like this for… well, as long as you’ll let me, I guess.”

I can practically feel my heart breaking. I smile, nodding; he’s said almost everything I wanted to, probably more eloquently than I could’ve managed. I feel my eyes stinging, but ignore it and lean down, capturing his lips in a kiss that he eagerly returns.

“I love you,” I whisper against his mouth, the only words left to say.

“Well,” comes a voice from the doorway, and I freeze, any high I was feeling immediately replaced with panic. I look over, and there he is, standing in the doorway, arms crossed and a surprised smirk on his face. _Isaac._ “This explains a lot.”


	10. As I Breathe You In

_Taylor_

I’ve never been more thankful for my little brother’s pot habit than I am right now. Without the small hit I’d taken of what was some surprisingly potent weed, I really don’t think I could handle this. But after everything that has happened today, all the emotions I’ve gone through in a span of just a few hours, I don’t have any left to spare for Isaac right now. 

I’m done falling apart. I’m just done.

I don’t even bother moving from Zac’s lap, because Isaac has obviously seen enough already to draw the obvious conclusion. I just stare at him. Ike stares back at me. Our staring contest goes on just long enough to get awkward before Ike finally shakes his head.

“Alright, whatever,” he says. “Don’t think we’re not talking about this later, though. At least you, shockingly, haven’t killed each other. Now that I’ve confirmed that--Tay, did you forget we have a dinner meeting with the band tonight?”

I stare blankly at him before finally, reluctantly, peeling myself away from Zac and sitting up. Running a hand through my hair, I reply, “I guess I did, sorry. Umm, if you wanna go on, I’ll catch a cab and meet you there in a few?”

“Ike, I--we--” Zac stammers, hastily stubbing the joint out in the ashtray. 

I put my hand on Zac’s knee in what I hope is a reassuring gesture and shoot Ike a pointed look. “Like I said, I’ll meet you there as soon as I can.”

Isaac’s face goes completely blank, but after a moment, he nods. “Yeah, yeah okay. I’ll uh, I’ll see you there.”  
With that, he’s out the door, which apparently hadn’t been entirely shut when he arrived. I let out a sigh of relief, then glance at Zac, who still looks like he’s seen a ghost. I know dealing with Ike and somehow explaining all of this to him won’t be easy, but I hope it hasn’t undone all of the progress we’ve made.

“Hey,” I say, giving his knee a gentle squeeze. 

“Hey,” he sighs, running a hand through his hair and closing his eyes. “So… that just happened.”

“It definitely did,” I reply, letting out a nervous laugh in spite of myself. “Don’t worry about him, though. I’ll… I’ll deal with him. Somehow.”

Zac eyed me, tilting his head, than gave an uneasy smile. My hand was still on his knee; he covered it with his own, his thumb brushing back and forth over mine.

“ _We’ll_ deal with him… with it. Together.”

“I think that’s a great idea, if you’re sure you’re up for it.” I give him a quick peck on the cheek, narrowly resisting the urge to take the kiss further. If I do, I know I’ll never leave. “But right now, unfortunately, I have to go do my job or whatever.”

Zac nods, pouting a bit. He glances at the ruined shreds of the painting he destroyed.

“I’m sorry about… that,” he says, gesturing to the pile of wood and canvas. “I can try to paint something else for you. If you want me to, that is.”

“You don’t have to do that,” I reply. “I mean, not that I wouldn’t love to have one of your paintings. And having one you painted just for me… I’d really like that.”

Zac smiles, and nodded. “It’s okay. I think… I think it’d be good.” He takes a breath, looking down. “Painting… well, it helped me deal with a lot of stuff. Everything that happened, ya know? So… maybe it’ll help now, too.”

“Maybe I should take up painting again, then,” I reply, half joking. Zac was always the better artist by far of the two of us, and I’m sure he knows it. “Maybe if I hadn’t given up music, I would have had that as an outlet for all of… well, everything. And god knows if I’m ready to get back into it now, but I let Ike drag me here, so I guess I don’t have a choice.”

Zac chuckles, shaking his head.

“He knew what he was doing, didn’t he,” he says, smirking. “I’m glad he brought you here, though,” he says, looking up at me. “I… We… needed this.”

“I’m not sure if he planned… _this_.” I motioned between the two of us. “And I had no idea what would happen at all. But god, did I need this. I need _you_.”

Zac smiles, and touches my cheek. “I need you, too,” he says, and sounds almost sad.

“Hey,” I reply, putting my hand over his. “You’ve got me now. Except, you know, I do need to leave. But maybe… maybe I could give you a call and we could hang out or something?”

“Yeah,” Zac says, nodding. “I’d like that.” He stares at me for a moment, then leans forward and plants a gentle kiss on my lips.

“I’d like that, too,” I reply softly, kissing him back.

We share several more kisses while I gather my phone, wallet and now dry clothing. I know we’re both delaying, but I really do have to leave. It isn’t goodbye forever, though. It’s really just the beginning.

****

_Zac_

After Tay leaves, I stay on the couch for a while, just trying to process everything. It’s amazing how your whole life can change in a single day; I learned that lesson years ago, when everything fell apart. But here I am, another day, and just like that everything’s changed again. Taylor is back in my life, and even more surprising, I’m actually _happy_ about it. It feels like such a relief to let go of everything, all the pain and anger and bitterness I’ve carried for so long. Loving him is so much easier than hating him.

But what does this mean for us? For me? I’ve got a good thing going here, and I’m not sure I want to let it go. Is he going to ask me to come back to Tulsa? To start playing music again? I don’t know if I’m ready for that or if I ever will be. I’ve put that part of my life behind me. Hell, I can’t even remember the last time I picked up a pair of drumsticks. No, I’m not just going to drop everything for him. I love him, and I’m glad to have him back, but I’ve got to think of myself, too.

Relax, I tell myself. He hasn’t said anything about Tulsa, or music, or anything. And if he does… we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.

I look down at my shaking hands and take a deep breath. One thing at a time. I look at the broken remnants of the painting I destroyed and sigh. I’ve always had a bad temper, with at least one case of it turning violent. I’ve tried hard to control it over the years and found that meditation was the most effective thing. I’m not really spiritual, but I’ve been taking yoga classes for a couple years now, and they really helped me deal with everything. 

I take another breath, deep and slow. I just need to find my center. I close my eyes and try to focus, but I can’t seem to clear my head. Frustrated, I stop fighting and let my mind’s eye find what it needs. Surprising to no one, the image that finally materializes is my brother’s smiling face. But what is surprising is the peace that I feel. As much as I hate to admit it--and I’ll never admit it to him--it seems Tay is my center now. Of course he is, the smug bastard, I think with a laugh.

Now that I feel grounded again, I busy myself cleaning up the apartment. I throw away the broken pile of wood and canvas, empty the ashtray, vacuum the carpet. Mundane tasks to keep my mind off the long list of unanswered questions in my mind. There’ll be plenty of time for that later. I make myself some tea and head into my studio. I’ve got a new painting in mind, and I can’t wait to get started.


	11. On the Line

_Taylor_

Our dinner meeting with the band goes about as well as can be expected. Isaac and I both drink a little too much, and while that makes him more talkative and charming, it makes me quiet and awkward. Luckily, the band is young enough to have grown up listening to our music, so they’re just starstruck enough not to notice any strangeness in my interactions with them.

The hotel is within walking distance of the trendy restaurant Isaac chose, and I only stumble a few times as I try to get ahead of him. I know I can’t delay this conversation forever, but I’ll be damned if I’m not going to put it off as long as possible. How can Isaac expect me to talk about all of this? Yet I know he does, and I know that in many ways, he’s the most stubborn of the three of us. He’ll get what he wants. 

He’s also the most impatient of the three of us. He catches up to me at the elevator and we ride to our floor in awkward, heavy silence. Finally, just outside the door to my room, he clears his throat.

“Tay,” he says. “I don’t know if I really want to know what I walked in on earlier, but I also don’t know if I can ignore it. I mean, god, I thought I was helping you two, putting you in each others’ path for the first time in three years, but I didn’t expect… that.”

“Well, I didn’t expect _that_ either.”

Isaac gives me something of a glare. “Okay, don’t just throw my words back at me. Tell me what the hell is going on here.”

“Do you really want to know?” I asked, taking a step closer to him. “After what you saw, do you really want to know?”

“I have spent the last three years completely in the dark as to why my career, my whole life, was ripped away from me. And it’s clear to see the two of you suffered even more, but not once have either of you given me any explanation, any reason at all, why it all had to change. I think, after this long, I deserve some answers.”

"I can't tell you what happened that night," I say. "I'm sorry, but I just can't. Suffice it to say, he had finally had enough of me treating him like shit. And sometimes, when you snap like that, there's just no going back. Nothing can be like it was before. If he hadn't been the one to leave, it probably would have been me."

Ike nods, as though what I’ve said makes sense. “So you’re taking responsibility for it.”

“It’s about time for me to,” I reply. “What Zac did was… well, it was what it was. But the point is that it was the culmination of a lifetime of me taking him for granted and pushing him closer and closer to the edge. So yeah, it was my fault. I accept that. And I hope that both of you can someday forgive me for it.”

“I think I’ve got a lot less to forgive you for than he does,” Isaac says. “And if he can forgive you, then so can I. All I want, all I ever wanted, was for the three of us to be happy. If we could be happy together and be a band, great. If not, I would hope that we could at least be happy separately. But I know neither of you can tell me you’ve been happy since the breakup.”

“No,” I reply honestly, shaking my head. “I can’t. I really can’t. And I don’t know what the future holds, but… I’ve got hope now.”

Ike cracks a wide smile and claps me on the shoulder. “Good.That’s really good. So I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow morning to start tracking this album?”

“Yeah,” I reply, smiling back at him as I fish my key card out of my pocket. “And thanks. For forgiving me and for dragging me here. I mean it.”

Isaac just gives me a knowing smile. With a nod, he bids me goodnight and walks into his own hotel room, leaving me alone in the hallway. 

I wonder if he really does know just how much he’s done for me with this trip, but as he pointed out, this was never just between me and Zac. In one night, we ended the band and fractured our entire family. While he may not know the details, of course Ike understands how important it is that Zac and I have finally taken the first steps toward mending our broken relationship.

Realizing that I look like a crazy person just standing in the hallway, I slide the key card into the door and walk into my hotel room. It barely even looks like a person has been occupying it at all, but that’s just how I’ve been for the last few years--barely existing. But no more. It’s time to start living again.

I flop down on the bed and pull my phone out of my pocket. I made sure to have Zac program in his new number before I left his apartment. Even though I had never tried to call his old number, I somehow knew he had changed it. The fact that he didn’t hesitate to give me his new one means more to me than I can possibly explain to him. Then again, maybe I can at least _try_ to explain it. 

With trembling fingers, I scroll through my contacts until I reach his name and hit call. I can actually _feel_ my heart pounding as I listen to the dull ring. One ring… two rings… three rings…

“Hello?”

“Hey, umm... hey.” I clear my throat, hating myself for sounding so pathetic. I couldn’t even manage a normal phone greeting without falling apart. “It’s umm, it’s me. Taylor. Just got back from that dinner thing with Ike and the band, so I thought I would give you a call. Like I said.”

“Oh. Okay, yeah. Thanks.” He sounds happy to hear from me, and although I really had no reason to expect the opposite, I’m still relieved.

“You’re welcome.” I clear my throat again. “Umm, how was your evening? Probably not as awkward as mine.”

“Nah, just… I started a new painting. It’s not gonna be done for a while, I think, but I owe you one. I’m sorry for that, again,” he says, quietly.

“Hey, no,” I reply, as sternly as I can manage. “You don’t owe me anything and you don’t have anything left to be sorry for. I mean that. But if you want to paint me something else, I would love to have it. Can I… can I ask what it is, or do you know yet?”

“Would you believe me if I told you I don’t know yet?” He answers with a chuckle. “It’s probably not what you’re expecting. I don’t really do portraits, you know? I just kinda… throw my emotions at the canvas. Sometimes it’s not too pretty… but not always. I have a feeling this is gonna be one of the good ones.”

“I’m sure it will be,” I reply. “I can’t wait to see it. I mean, whenever you’re done. No rush, of course.”

“When can I--I mean, how long are you guys gonna be in town?”

“Two weeks, this time, then we’ll be back in Tulsa for a few. But Ike’s already talking about renting a little apartment when we come back to really dive into the recording. Probably two months, give or take?”

“Okay,” he says, and I hear him take a breath. “Do you want to do something before you leave? We could go to dinner or something. If you want.” 

“Zac, I--yeah, of course. I mean, I’m not doing anything tomorrow.” What I don’t tell him is that I would gladly spend every night before I leave with him. 

“Alright. Well, how about I pick you up around six? I know a pretty good restaurant I think you’ll like.”

“Sure,” I reply. “I trust your judgment. I don’t know if you’ve talked to Ike, but we’re staying at the Marriot. Right in your neighborhood, and I’m sure he planned it that way.”

“Probably,” he laughs. “Sounds good. Well, I’ll let you get some rest; I assume you still demand your ten hours of beauty sleep. Not that you ever really needed it...”

“You’re making me blush now,” I admit. With a chuckle I add, “But anyway, do you really think our dear brother is actually letting me sleep that long?”

“Speaking of Ike,” Zac pauses to clear his throat. “What’d he say after you left?”

“Well, he wanted answers. I can’t blame him for that, really. He put a few things together for himself considering what he saw, I’m sure, and we didn’t talk about _that_. But I told him the truth, that it was my fault. I pushed you too far. But that we’re, I hope, moving past it now.”

“We are. I don’t know what’s gonna happen when you go back to Tulsa, but I promise. I won’t disappear again.”

“Can I just stay here?” I ask, chuckling a little to hide the fact that I’m practically tearing up at the thought of leaving him.

“Tay… don’t get me wrong. I’m so happy to have you back in my life. And I don’t want it to seem like I don’t want you. Believe me, I do. But this is all happening really fast. I just think we should take things one step at a time, you know?”

I let out a shaky sigh. “Yeah. Okay, yeah. I know you’re right, I just… I’ve already lost so much time with you. And even before that, I wasted the time I did have. I guess I just want to make up for all of that. But I understand if… if we can’t just flip a switch and change everything.”

“I think things had to happen, though. We couldn’t have gone on like that; one of us was bound to break. It’s okay. Anyway… let’s not worry about the past, okay?”

“I’m really trying not to,” I reply, then take a deep breath. “So, okay. Dinner tomorrow, and then… we’ll see. And I’ll try not to have another panic attack in public.”

“That’s probably a good idea. Goodnight, Tay. I love you.”

“Goodnight, Zac,” I reply, a few tears breaking free and flowing down my cheeks. “I love you, too.”

Even after I hear the soft click signifying that Zac has hung up, I can’t quite bring myself to lower the phone from my ear. It’s a connection to him, and I don’t want to sever it. Still, I understand his need to move slowly, even if I don’t seem capable of doing the same. I’ve suffered too long without him, and I’m ready to spend the rest of my life making everything up to him.


End file.
